


Soft

by TheRavenintheMoon



Series: Long Lost Souls [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Kitten, Warrior - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavenintheMoon/pseuds/TheRavenintheMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warriors are supposed to be battle-hardened, able to withstand the heat and fury of the constant battle that was a metaphor and a reality of life. Just when, then, had she become so soft?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I probably own nothing, except maybe my characters. I know that Blizzard, however, owns a small chunk of my soul...

**_Soft_ **

**_Vermyllion_ **

Vermyllion had never been to Stormwind, but secretly, she’d always wanted to see the great human city in the forests of the south. Duty had kept her in the north, fighting across the loch and the marshes for the dwarves. They had, after all, aided the gnomes in their fight to retake Gnomeregan; helping them in return had seemed like the right thing to do. But even the greatest heroes occasionally needed to rest a bit…

She had arrived in Ironforge, intending to take a week off, maybe visit the engineering shop and learn a few new tricks. She had just reached the engineers when she was distracted by a commotion over in the alchemists’ shop. A large quantity of hot, bubbling liquid was spreading across the floor. Both alchemists were scrambling to soak it up with large pieces of cloth before it spread too far. By the time the floor was clean, a small audience of gnomes had gathered, most of whom—with no knowledge of alchemy whatsoever—were attempting to take sides in the argument over whether the potion could be wrung out of the cloth and used…

Vermyllion was going to head back to engineering, when the alchemist trainer let out a shriek, brandishing a half-sodden letter at the other gnome. “Now see what you’ve done,” she snapped. “I can’t remember who I was supposed to give this to!”

Another argument would have broken out, but one of the gnomes in the crowd offered to attempt to decipher the name on the top of the letter. He couldn’t. The note quickly passed through the crowd, but none could make out much of it. The final conclusion, rather jokingly shouted out by the fireworks vendor from across the street, was that it was meant for someone headed south, and that whoever had left the note really should have known better than to trust mail to a pair of alchemists. The crowd, sensing that the entertainment was over, broke up, and the paper fell to the street, forgotten.

Left alone, Vermyllion bent to pick the letter up, curious at the mention of “south.” Most of the letter was illegible, blurred beyond recognition. All she could make out were a few disjointed fragments. “…trouble in the darkest forests of the south. A friend of mine could use some help…” The rest of the paragraph was smeared, and Vermyllion was left wondering where, exactly, these forests were. Beneath that, she could make out “If you’re free, I would be grateful if you, with this letter as proof, could meet her in my place, since I am unable, at the present, to…”

The rest of the letter was covered in an older stain, all but “and Whistle, 5:00, 20th November,” and a hastily scrawled signature of a name that probably started with a D.

Vermyllion wondered how long ago the letter had been left, since today was the 20th. She glanced around, thinking. She had a few hours. She might as well go meet whoever was expecting the letter-writer. There couldn’t be too many places named “and Whistle” in Stormwind.

Vermyllion gathered her belongings and walked down the tunnel to the Deeprun Tram for the first time. It was dirtier than she expected, as she ran around inspecting the gears and pipes that kept the whole mechanism running smoothly. She nearly missed the first tram that came along because she had crawled up on a chair, attempting to get closer to one of the pipes. But she made it, bouncing slightly before sitting down in an attempt to curb her excitement. She drummed her heels on the floor of the car instead. She should have done this ages ago. And Stormwind was just a few minutes away…

When the tram came to a stop, Myllion’s excitement got the better of her and she jumped up and off—facing the wrong way. She glared at the wall, then turned around to see the tunnel out was two tracks over. Bouncing in impatience, she ran around the first track, didn’t quite turn enough, and tripped, tumbling into the second track with a clang. Cursing, nursing a bruised elbow, she turned, looking for the ramp out. And that was when she heard it.

It was a tiny noise, and she almost didn’t look to see what it was. Then she turned, and realized that she’d nearly fallen on top of a tiny kitten. It was huddled in the corner, shivering. It was mewling in faint distress—she had probably woken it when she fell past its nose. It wouldn’t last long; if it didn’t freeze or starve, the rats would get it. For a moment, Vermyllion considered leaving it to its fate—how could she care for a kitten on the road?

She began to walk away. As if it were aware that she was deliberately leaving, it meowed again, pitifully. Myllion turned back to it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you wouldn’t like my life very much.”

It wobbled to its feet, took a few hesitant steps, then tumbled in a heap. Despite herself, Myllion giggled. She swore it was glaring at her with all the dignity a tiny kitten could muster. The gnome glared right back—she was the one who looked away.

“All right, you little furball,” she said. “You win.” Carefully, she gathered the kitten into her arms, where he snuggled, a slightly smelly pile of orange and white fluff. Vermyllion fished in her pack, finding some milk she’d gotten…somewhere…that smelled all right. Better than the kitten did at the moment, actually, so she let him have some. When he’d finished, he yawned and fell asleep, purring.

Myllion carried him up into the city, muttering cat names to herself, and discarding all of them. She focused long enough to ask about the “and Whistle” and was directed to an inn in Old Town, but the meeting was still hours away. So she wandered the great city, from the tram to the gates—staring in wonder at the statues, at the canals, at the fountain in the Cathedral Square. She took her kitten down to the lake, where he woke up with a squall when she tried to wash him. She followed him when he dashed off, catching him before a great warhorse rushing for the docks stepped on him.

Deciding the Cathedral Square was probably the least populated part of the city, and therefore the safest, she camped out by the fountain, sprawled on a bench, dangling a piece of string for her kitten’s amusement. After a few mistimed jumps, and several undignified rolls, she decided to call him Spring—he was ever so bouncy, as the orphans behind her decided.

And when one of the orphans approached, and asked sweetly, “Can I try, ma’am?” Vermyllion was in such a good mood that she didn’t mind sharing her new pet. As the child rather enthusiastically dangled the string, making Spring bounce madly, Vermyllion laughed for the first time in a long while. She’d been working too hard, she decided. This was fun.

Spring, after a particularly mad dash and roll, turned, panting, to glare at her again. “Honestly,” he seemed to say, “when did you get so soft?”


End file.
